


you, & you, & you.

by sapphireoftarth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Kid Fic, Like, Romance, but it's Soft(tm), doctor!Brienne, i know i wrote it, this fic is very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 23:03:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12945942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphireoftarth/pseuds/sapphireoftarth
Summary: Brienne looks at him finally. She hates when he looks at her like that, all raw and open and very in love with her, because there’s absolutely nothing she can say or do that will even approach an appropriate response.Brienne and Jaime go to Italy and she has a baby. They also spend a lot of time being in love with each other.





	you, & you, & you.

**Author's Note:**

> [This poem](http://icarvs.co.vu/post/167623726548/two-ships-passing-in-the-night-te) was the sole and complete inspiration for this fic, as well as the source of the title. I read it and immediately knew I had to write a fic off of it. Seriously, please go read it before you read this. It'll help you get in the mood. Also, here's [a good song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=an4ySOlsUMY) for more mood setting.
> 
> I teetered as to whether to actually make them go to Italy and remove them completely from Westeros, but I love reading AUs and I love writing them, so that’s what happened. I felt a little odd at first making it so fluffy, but while I was scribbling plot notes, I just kept writing “soft!!!!” Jaime and Brienne don’t have much softness in their lives in canon, and this is fanfic. That’s what this is for. I do have a certain adherence to canon, but I wanted to take them away from everything. It’s so much and they deserve something softer. This is me tucking them in bed together with a warm cup of tea. Also, there is a sad lack of kid fics for them and they’re _so_ parents, that it just needed to be done.
> 
> I will be discussing and describing pregnancy and kids in this fic, in case you missed it. If that's not your thing, turn back now.

Brienne finds out she’s pregnant right before they book their flight. She had missed her period for the last two months, but she hadn’t thought anything of it. Her cycle has always been erratic, and it’s not like she and Jaime are idiots about protection.

But Jaime had asked her that night if she ate anything funny, and she had shaken her head and he had cocked his own.

“I’m only asking because you taste different,” he says.

Brienne blushes and takes his hand. “I ate like I always do today,” she whispers. “Are you sure?”

Jaime just stares at her for a long moment, so long that she feels as if he is about to say something very important- and he’s definitely not proposing, she _knows_ that, they’ve talked about it- but still. He’s looking at her in a certain way she doesn’t know how to interpret, and she’s been quite adept at interpreting his looks for a few years now.

“Is there any possibility you could be pregnant?” he finally asks.

Brienne jerks in surprise. “I-” she pauses. She doesn’t actually know. There is a possibility, of course. There always is. “I hadn’t thought much of it, but I have missed my period the last two months,” she says slowly.

Jaime raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to go to Walmart and buy a pregnancy test?”

She sighs and places her hand on his cheek, relishing the familiar feel of his beard on her palm. “It wouldn’t hurt. But now we have to get dressed again. I’m not putting on a bra, though.”

He smirks. “You hardly ever put a bra on in the first place.”

“Damn right.” Brienne moves her legs away from his and swings off their bed. “Bras are for women with actual breasts to fill them.”

“I like your breasts,” Jaime says quietly, and she can hear the sheets rustling behind her. “I like you not wearing a bra too.” He comes up behind her and places his hands over her breasts, resting his head on her shoulder. “I like you,” he says in that same low tone.

“I like you too,” she replies and arches her neck to kiss his cheek. “Now let me get dressed.”

There is the possibility that Brienne will run into patients at Walmart. There always is that risk in this town that is just small enough that nearly everyone knows everyone else, but she still sees people she’s never seen before in her life every day. But she can’t be bothered to do more than throw on a sweatshirt and jeans. Jaime looks at her when she’s grabbing her keys, his own sweatshirt pulled halfway up his arms.

“What?” she says, and rolls her eyes. “Forgot something vitally important for a Walmart run?”

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

“Shhh,” she replies, but she no longer tells him to stop lying. Because he isn’t. Lying, that is. Jaime thinks she is beautiful, and it makes her carry her head higher some days. She _knows_ she is beautiful now, too. Not like him, or Sansa, or his gods damned sister, but in her own way. The strength of her body and the curve of her hips and even the length of her neck are all things that are beautiful about her. It sounds stupid and fucking cliche that it took a man to love her body before she could, but Brienne thanks Jaime for showing her all the places to love.

She does not thank him for it with her words, though. That’s unnecessary. He doesn’t need her thanks either. He would- and has- loved her body despite her personal issues with it.

She loves his body too- the long planes of his stomach and back, the texture of his beard, and the way he sighs when she kisses behind his ear. But they’re going to Walmart, and she can make him sigh like that when they get back.

Of course Brienne sees Liana Fargrave the moment she walks through the doors. Of fucking course she does. She grabs Jaime’s hand and practically runs behind a clothing display.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “I don’t want to talk to anyone, and I most certainly don’t want to run into patients while in my sweatpants. I _extra_ don’t want to talk to them while I’m with my _boyfriend_ buying _pregnancy tests._ ”

Jaime squeezes her hand. “Wait a minute and go back to the car. I’ll buy them for you. How many do you want?”

“Two,” Brienne says. “Wait- three. Yes. Three should do it. Just in case. To be sure.”

He’s already squeezing her hand again and about to leave when she hisses, “ _Wait._ ”

He looks at her quizzically. “What?”

“Does anyone who works here know that you’re my boyfriend?”

Jaime normally does the Walmart runs, being home more. He knows this stuff.

“Yes. Ruth Myers. But she doesn’t normally work Friday nights. Why?”

“Because I don’t want people to know that my boyfriend is buying me pregnancy tests. If I am pregnant, I want to wait awhile to tell people, okay?”

“Okay.” He smiles at her. “Now go.”

Brienne waits, staring at the orange light on the asphalt of the parking lot. If she is pregnant, she’s fine with it. They weren’t planning on it, but it’s okay. Jaime’s home most of the time so childcare wouldn’t be a big issue, and she’s at an okay spot in her career to have a child. She’d like to be a mother very much- maybe more than she thought she did now that it’s a very real possibility. And she knows Jaime wants to be a dad too. He worries sometimes about being able to be a good father with only one hand, but she always arches her eyebrows and tells him he’s a damn good lover with one hand, so he should be fine.

He comes out with the bag a few minutes later, looking ridiculously sexy- as always. Brienne thinks that the only time Jaime is ever unattractive is when he’s angry with himself.

“No one pointed any fingers at Dr. Tarth’s boyfriend buying pregnancy tests,” he says, clicking his seatbelt. “Ruth wasn’t working tonight.”

“Okay.” Brienne smiles. “Thank you.”

Once they’re home, she immediately walks into their kitchen and guzzles three glasses of water. “One for each test,” she says.

Jaime watches her with a faint air of amusement. He’s taken his sweatshirt off and has his arms crossed, leaning against the cabinets. Brienne thinks that she’s pretty sure they’re having sex again tonight- at least, if she has any say in the matter.

She walks to the bathroom with the plastic bag and spends five minutes unboxing each test. “This is terrible for the environment,” she grumbles, and Jaime just smirks.

“I can’t pee with you watching,” Brienne says. “Shoo.”

He shoos, but not before planting a kiss on her cheek.

“You can come back now,” she yells, before she’s even got her underwear pulled up again. Jaime must have been waiting just outside the door, because he’s inside the bathroom in only a few seconds.

“We have to wait.” Brienne looks at her boyfriend and smiles. “You’re terribly impatient.”

“I can think of ways to pass the time,” he says, and leans closer to her.

“Stop,” she giggles- Brienne Tarth, M.D. fucking giggles now. She never giggled when she was younger. “Not that long. Just three minutes.”

Jaime makes a face, and she knows he’s joking, but the way he grabs her hand with his own and lifts it to his lips makes her shiver.

It’s a long three minutes, neither of them wanting to do anything except wait for the lines to appear. Brienne has the tests in a row on the vanity, and while the waiting is kind of torturous, it’s nice to have Jaime’s arms wrapped around her and to just be with him in silence.

“If you are pregnant,” he says, after maybe a minute. “You know I’ll be happy, yes?”

“Of course I do.” A long pause. “You know I’ll be happy too.”

“Yes.” Jaime presses a kiss to the crook of her neck. “We’ll both be a pair of grinning idiots.”

“Shhhh,” Brienne smiles. “Wait for the tests before we say anything.”

She is pregnant. Six pink lines affirm that fact.

“We should buy those plane tickets now,” Brienne says suddenly.

“ _Now_ now?” Jaime turns her around and places his hands on her hips.

“Well,” she says, smirking. “Not _now_ now.”

*

They buy the plane tickets the next morning. Or rather- Jaime does while Brienne makes breakfast. He’s got some miles from the last time he visited Tyrion so they don’t have to pay full price, and they weren’t planning on going until June anyways, but it’s still a lot of money to fly to Italy. Brienne winces slightly when she sees how much the total is.

“I know you’re filthy rich, but don’t you ever look at price tags and think, ‘Shit, that’s a lot of money?’”

“Not really,” Jaime says, and stands to get the orange juice from the fridge.

They have this conversation sometimes, about how he’s never had to worry about money, and Brienne spent most of med school in a two-bedroom apartment with three roommates. She’s not angry at him, she just wonders how Jaime would have been different if he’d grown up with a dad that made even one tax bracket lower.

Tywin is dead now. She never got the chance to meet him, and from what she’s heard, she didn’t miss much. Jaime doesn’t talk about him that often, and she never pushes him. Tyrion will never shut up about his father, if given the chance. But the younger son has more to begrudge than the elder, and Brienne does not believe it necessary to do anything but listen on those occasions.

Jaime doesn’t speak of Cersei either, but Brienne asked him not to. He doesn’t seem to want to anyways. She’s glad of that- that he would rather speak of her and spend his days with her over his sister.

But now that she’s pregnant, she can’t help but think about how Jaime felt the last time he was going to be a father. He hasn’t talked much about his children with Cersei- for which she is grateful, but she finds herself curious now.

Brienne bites her tongue and sets the plate of pancakes down. There will be time later to talk about that. For now, she wants to sit with the love of her life and plan their Italy trip.

They decide on eight days in Tuscany, five in Venice, and three in Rome. “I won’t be able to drink any of the wine,” she says, and makes a face.

Jaime hasn’t had a drop of alcohol since he ended things with Cersei. “We’ll have to go again,” he says.

“We don’t,” Brienne replies, and stabs her pancake with her fork. “Not for wine that you can buy and have shipped. It’s not actually a big deal, Jaime.”

He looks at her, and she knows it’s the look that means he’s about to say something that makes her want to cry. That happens less these days than in the beginning, but he still treats her like a queen.

“You’re always a big deal to me,” Jaime says. “If you want to go back to Italy and drink wine until you’re falling over, I’ll take you again. Do you want to go back?”

“I don’t know.” Brienne can’t always look at him when he’s like this. She knows she’s a strong, capable woman, but he’s so _soft_ with her sometimes she thinks she might die. No one was ever soft to her before Jaime. She mostly used to it, but it still catches her off guard.

And he doesn’t push her. He just smiles and awkwardly cuts his pancake with his fork, leaving her to think about it.

*

Brienne is four months along when they leave, their suitcases full of clothes that she doesn’t actually want to wear, but Jaime’s been giving her lectures about her wardrobe for literally years at this point, so she finally let him buy her clothes for the trip.

It’s not that they’re terrible clothes, not really. It’s just that there are some _dresses_ in there, and loose and flowing clothes she is afraid will make her look frumpy. He’s assured her they won’t, and that she should trust him.

She doesn’t really have much of a bump, her long torso disguising everything except the slight increase in breast size, but she supposes that the flowy clothing might serve a purpose. (And she hates to say this, but the shapeless dresses he picked actually suit her.)

The flights are mind-numbing and cramped, because Jaime with his wads of money only booked business. Brienne curses him endlessly for shoving two tall people in such tiny seats when he could fucking afford first class for a pregnant lady at the _very_ least.

“I wasn’t thinking about it,” he says, looking very sorry indeed. “I’ll see if we can get our return flights bumped up.”

“I don’t care if you have to drop five thousand dollars, Jaime Lannister. I’m getting leg room on the way home.”

Jaime is a smart man and knows when to look her in the eyes and agree.

*

They’re both absolutely exhausted when they land in Rome, but they have an hour before they need to get on their train to Tuscany, so they sit at McDonalds in the airport and complain about how it tastes different somehow.

This is easy- their company. Travelling is a certain amount of stress, but they’ve gone through worse shit together, Cersei not excluded, so it’s easy to rest her foot against his and run her fingers through his hair across the table and laugh with a mouthful of fries when he complains about her getting grease in his hair.

“It’s not like we both couldn’t use a shower,” Brienne says before she shoves the rest of her Big Mac in her mouth. “Don’t be a baby.”

Jaime glares at her, but his false anger only lasts a moment before he very deliberately wipes his hand on his fries and grabs a fistful of her hair.

She laughs in response. “Are you really going to start a jetlagged food fight in the airport in Rome?”

“No,”  Jaime says slowly. “I’m simply repaying my debts.”

Brienne looks away for a brief second and notices an older couple staring at them. She knows they make an odd couple- her with her looks and Jaime with his missing hand. She doesn’t care anywhere as much as she used to, but they get stared at every time they’re in public together, even if they aren’t obviously a couple.

It’s hard to pretend they aren’t though, because Jaime likes to touch her- place his hand on her back or sit way too close to her in a booth at a restaurant or sometimes kiss her anywhere and everywhere without warning. She doesn’t mind any of that. She relishes it, actually. To be treasured and adored as she has always wanted makes her happier than anything in the world.

The first time he had kissed her in line at the bank she had blushed crimson and hissed at him to never do that again. He had raised his eyebrows and grabbed her hand, but hadn’t said anything until they were in her car again.

“Do you mean that?” he had asked, his voice low. “Do you want me to not touch you in public?”

They had been dating for four months, but he had asked her to be his girlfriend on the third date (in which they did not have sex and instead fell asleep watching a dumb movie that they still like to fall asleep to, and she didn’t agree to be his girlfriend until quite a bit later), and told her about Cersei two weeks later.

She knows that he likes that he never has to hide with her- that he wants to show her off. She was still getting used to the idea that this wasn’t some extended joke and that he really cared about her, but she could see the quietness in his shoulders and thought that she would not take from him anymore than he had already been taken from.

That’s what she could gather in the beginning- that he had been taken from in far too many ways for far too long, and it was only the loss of his hand that allowed him freedom.

“No,” she said, and took his hand in her own, intertwining their fingers. “I was just embarrassed. No one’s ever wanted to kiss me in public without it being a cruel joke.”

“I always want to kiss you,” he had replied- the beginning of the soft things he says to her. He swallowed and looked at their hands. _And touch you,_ he had not said, but Brienne could see it on his lips and in the way his hand had clenched around hers.

“Don’t say that,” she had said impulsively, still feeling as if he was lying, no matter that he promised her complete honesty.

Jaime hadn’t said anything, just kissed her soundly again until she could hardly think straight to get her keys in the ignition.

“I always want to kiss you,” Brienne says, returning her gaze to Jaime. “Finish your food so I can kiss you.”

He calls her Brienne the Bold when she initiates PDA, and she can see the syllables already begin to shape in his mouth as he finishes smiling.

“Brienne the Bold takes Italy, huh?”

She playfully kicks him under the table. “Brienne the Bold also wants you to finish your food so she can catch her train with her boyfriend and not get stuck in a strange city on too little sleep while she _happens_ to be pregnant.”

Jaime rolls his eyes. “As my lady commands.” Despite his facial expression, there is no sarcasm in his voice.

Brienne extra wants to kiss him right then, but there’s a table in the way, so she has to wait.

He falls asleep on the train, even though it’s only an hour and a half and it’s the middle of the morning in Italy. She watches his eyelids flutter and thanks the universe (or whatever. She isn’t sure and she doesn’t care to think about it too much, but she does believe in _something_ ) that she gets to have this time with him.

The baby kicks, and she places her hand on her stomach to feel the push of its feet against her skin. They both had decided that they wanted to be surprised about the sex of the baby, but Brienne’s taken to calling it Bean. Jaime pretended it was stupid at first, but now he says it just as much as her.

She’s going to have their baby shower a week after they get back. Sansa had tried to convince her that she ought to have one before she went to Italy with Jaime. Brienne had stared her down and promised to take an extra prenatal vitamin.

She wants to savor her pregnancy before she’s waddling and has to pee every five minutes. She hasn’t really had nausea or anything terrible, just weird cravings. Jaime watches her eat anchovies four times a week now with something approaching respect on his face.

The train has an okay amount of legroom, which is nice. Jaime is currently drooling on her shoulder, which is not as nice, but she’ll deal for another forty-five minutes.

Brienne shakes him awake a few minutes before their stop and kisses his sleep soft cheek. “How’s my sleeping beauty?”

He raises his eyebrows and shrugs. “Tired. I want more sleep.”

“Don’t we all.”

“We should stay up as late as we can tonight, though. It’s going to make our lives easier.”

“I know this, Jaime. I’m not an idiot just because I haven’t left the country before.” The train stops and Brienne stands up. “Now get our luggage and leave the pregnant lady be.”

“I think I’d like to stick around said pregnant lady, even if she does complain about being pregnant a lot.” Jaime grabs their suitcases.

She knows that he actually likes her talking about being pregnant so much. It’s not an experience he’s had the privilege of participating in before. His complaining is mostly so he has something to bicker about with her. They had bickered a lot in the beginning, before he started saying things that took her breath away. It’s comforting still, to have something simple that both of them know isn’t an actual issue that they can argue like an old married couple about.

The house they’re staying in is too nice for Brienne to feel comfortable in at first.

“Jaime,” she says reprovingly as she sits to take her shoes off. “You didn’t have to get something this nice.”

“But I _wanted_ to,” he says seriously. “And you deserve it. This is a nice vacation and before the year is over we’ll have a baby to keep us busy. Let me do nice things for you with the stupid amounts of money my father begrudgingly left me.”

“I love you.”  Brienne looks at her love and wishes that she could express herself better. He always manages to say prettier things.

“I love you too.” Jaime looks back at her, and she thinks she is going to melt.

They just stay there, looking at each other, until one of them kisses the other and Jaime mentions the bed that needs to be christened and they find a way to pass an hour or two.

They don’t have anything to _do,_ and Brienne feels almost giddy with her lack of responsibility. She doesn’t have patients to check up on or paperwork to fill out or phone calls to make. She can just lie in bed and do nothing.

“I think this was a very good idea,” she says to the ceiling. Jaime is tucked against her side, his head on her chest.

He hums into her skin. “I’m often right, you know.”

“I am too.”

He’s silent, and Brienne _knows_ that he’s cooking up something sarcastic to say.

“But it wasn’t you who came up with the idea for a trip to Italy, now was it?”

“It wasn’t.”

“And that’s all we’re debating here, isn’t it?” Jaime looks up at her.

“Hush your mouth,” Brienne says, and kisses him.

They walk to a restaurant for lunch, where she has the best spaghetti of her entire life and makes absolutely obscene noises while Jaime pretends not to smile at her.

“This feels like you’re buttering me up for something,” Brienne says later while they’re watching the news without subtitles and making shit up. “You’re feeding me good food and spending lots of money on me.”

“I’m not.”

She hopes she hasn’t put her foot in her mouth. Everything is really actually wonderful, besides her overwhelming desire to fall asleep. It’s only that they’ve never done anything this big before and she feels slightly insecure about it, even though she knows she shouldn’t. Jaime has every right to be terse with her. Maybe it’s pregnancy hormones.

 “It’s hormones,” she says, too quietly. “Ignore me.”

 “I don’t want to ignore you,” Jaime says, not quietly at all.

Brienne looks at him finally. She hates when he looks at her like that, all raw and open and very in love with her, because there’s absolutely nothing she can say or do that will even approach an appropriate response.

She feels like she’s about to cry. “Can we just go to bed now?”

“Brie.” His voice is so soft and his stump is the lightest pressure on her leg and _god,_ she is definitely crying now. He almost never calls her Brie, because she likes her full name and he respects that, but he’s being soft _again,_ and she’s too full of gross pregnancy hormones to even offer her normal “I love you” in response.

 “We can very much go to bed right now. It’s okay.” He brings his hand up to cup her cheek. “Come on, let’s take my disabled ass and your pregnant one to the bedroom.”

 She wakes up before him in the morning, an unusual occurrence. Jaime is normally up with the sunrise and has already consumed his coffee before Brienne even stirs, and she has to be at the office by 8:25 every weekday. Jetlag is weird, though, and she doesn’t have to be at the office, so she lies in bed, her boyfriend warm beside her, and thinks about the day she didn’t answer his texts for 24 hours.

They had both still lived in California then, and Brienne had been at her first job outside of med school for barely two years. Jaime had asked if she would like to have a picnic on the beach on a ridiculously hot day.

“Yes,” Brienne had said, already wishing there was cool sand between her toes and the ocean breeze to take away the sweat crawling down her back. She still didn’t know if she was going to say yes to being his girlfriend. She had felt so uncertain about everything with him in the beginning. But she was having fun- actually _enjoying_ herself- and he hadn’t once cringed away in disgust when she kissed him and he had actually initiated kisses (more than once), so there was that. 

They hadn’t had sex yet, but she wasn’t going to do that until he actually was her boyfriend, if he stuck around long enough.

Their day at the beach had been nice, but Brienne didn’t want to sit in the middle of a fog bank that had rolled in, so they decided to go for lunch at a place along the coast.

Jaime had looked at her kind of funnily their entire meal, and she began to get the distinct feeling he was going to tell her that there would be no more dates, probably because she wouldn’t put out or he was tired of looking at her face. She felt more betrayed than she had with all her previous rejections, but she steeled herself for the inevitable. 

Right after their waitress left them the check, which he insisted on paying for, he said something that made her blood run cold.

“I have something I need to tell you.”

Brienne had been unable to do anything but nod, already figuring out how she was going to pretend she hadn’t really cared about him at all. 

“I’d like to tell you it while we’re driving,” he had said, and her pulse had skyrocketed. They were going to be trapped in a car together either way, so maybe putting it off would help. She didn’t know, but she was certain she wasn’t going to like this.

When Jaime said, “You know I have a twin sister, right?” Brienne gave him the oddest look. It was not what she was expecting at all. Her stomach still felt funny, though.

“Yes,” she said slowly. She turned her head to back out. “Cersei, right?”

“Yes,” Jaime replied, equally slowly. “What I’m about to say is not pleasant, but if I want to keep seeing you, I think it’s fair that you should know. If you want me to stop at some point, or you want to throw me out of the car, I completely understand.”

And then he proceeded to tell her unanswerable things about Cersei and him- things that made the blood drain from Brienne’s face and her hands grip the steering wheel so tightly the freckles on her knuckles faded. Her foot itched to press the gas pedal to the floor and take them off a cliff and- why hadn’t Jaime driven? Right, his car was in the shop- something about his transmission- and her heart was about to come out her throat with anger and pain and something unnameable.

“I need a day,” she had said, after he had finished telling her that Cersei had invited him into her bed at fourteen and he had went, that his niece and nephews were actually his children, and that he had never looked at another woman until Brienne. “Twenty-four hours, and I’ll call you.”

“Okay,” Jaime said, and his voice had shaken a bit. He sounded tired, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.  

She glanced over at him when she was at a stop sign and thought that he had looked old for the first time since she met him.

They had said nothing to each other the entire drive home, and Brienne had not allowed or even considered a goodbye kiss. She went to her couch and barely moved for the next day. Jaime had texted her several times, but she hadn’t moved to check her phone.

When she called him finally, he had picked up on the first ring, his breathing heavy in her ear.

“Yes?” he had asked.

“I have conditions.” Brienne had stared at her blank TV screen and listened to him exhale, her own breathing funny. “Let’s meet for dinner and we can talk.”

She had thought as she watched him that he seemed jittery and off- as if he was afraid of what she was going to say. She picked up a menu and started talking, astonished at her tone of voice.

“You are never allowed to speak about her. Not if you want me. If- if you want me,” Brienne had said, surprised at her stumble with all the strength she had felt coming here. “And I need to know that you will never compare me to her.”

“I don’t want to,” Jaime said, his hand crumpling and straightening his straw wrapper over and over again. “You might not believe me, but I only want you, Brienne. If you’ll take me, knowing what you know.”

“I don’t blame you.” She deflected, knowing she was deflecting, but she needed to say this. “She used you and twisted you into something you had no choice but to become. What she did was wrong. Your complicitness...did you ever actually choose anything in your life?”

She looked him in the eyes then, and was shocked to see that he appeared to be fighting back tears.

“Tyrion said that to me once. I didn’t believe him.”

“Jaime,” she had said, the first time his name was soft on her tongue, the syllables delicate and handled with care. “I’ll take you.”

Brienne rolls over in bed, reaching for Jaime’s body and pulling him closer to her. She doesn’t care if he wakes; she needs to feel his skin against hers.

 _I love you like I breathe,_ she thinks, and kisses his shoulder. She cannot speak, so she presses her lips harder into his skin. He murmurs something about her lips and she doesn’t hear him, but she doesn’t ask him to repeat what he said, just hums into his muscle.

They had had sex for the first time after they left that diner. Brienne had blushed nearly the entire time (he had believed her when she said she hadn’t done this before, and had said he liked the way she blushed, which only made her blush more) and had tried to get Jaime to turn off the lights at least twice, but he had insisted he wanted to look at her. He had called her beautiful no less than five times.

She hadn’t believed him until the last time, when he said it with such reverence that she couldn’t think he was lying.

Jaime rolls over and looks at her. “I could have slept for another half an hour at least. Is there a reason why you insisted on waking me up?”

Brienne still can’t talk. She moves against him instead, her hand firm as it slides down his belly.

“I see how it is,” he mutters. “Using me for my body.”

She shuts him up by kissing him, long and hard. She started crying at some point, but she continues to kiss him as his lips began to taste of salt.

“Brienne, love. What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head.

“Is everything alright?”

She closes her eyes and finally finds the ability to speak. “I was thinking about that night when I sat in the diner with you and told you I wanted you for the first time.”

“Oh.” Brienne can feel his breath on her cheek, warm and regular. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 _Do you want to talk about Cersei,_ he means.

“She didn’t let you near her when she was pregnant, did she?” She still has her eyes shut, not wanting to look at Jaime while they talk about this- about _her._

“No,” he says hoarsely. “She said they would recognize my voice. I got to hold each of them once. I could not even kiss their foreheads.”

“I’m sorry,” Brienne says, and means it. “You didn’t deserve that, no matter the circumstances.”

“I know.” 

“Will you stay home with the baby? I’d like you to. If you want to get a babysitter or something, we can do that. I just-” She opens her eyes. Jaime is crying too. “I want you to be with them. I want you to be a father.”

“Of course,” he says, and pulls her on top of him. “I was going to ask.”

Brienne thinks that she would give Jaime a thousand children if he asked. He won’t, and she won’t offer either because she couldn’t handle more than three, but the sentiment is there. 

“You’re going to be a wonderful father.”

His face twists slightly, as if she has forgotten he is already a father. She hasn’t.

“To _our_ child. The first one you will be allowed to hold and love and raise.” Brienne cradles his head in her hands, her hips flush against his. “If you ever-” she starts, and then closes her mouth, unsure if they should have this conversation.

Jaime raises an eyebrow. “If I what?”

“If you ever want to tell your other children, I’ll support you.” Maybe this isn’t a conversation for the bedroom while they’re both very naked, but they’re here now, and she wants him to know.

He says thank you as he pulls her close to him.

*

The Leaning Tower of Pisa leans. That’s all Brienne can think looking at it. It sure as hell isn’t straight, and she can’t think that it’s that special. She turns to see if Jaime is similarly unimpressed. He’s doing a better job at hiding it than her, but there’s still that slight crease of confusion between his brows.

“It’s...leaning,” she says, and shrugs.

He laughs. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What else is there to say? It’s a poorly constructed tower that’s crooked.”

Jaime waves his hand. “You’re just frustrated that it’s the same height as you.”

Once, Brienne would have blushed blotchy red and offered only stony silence in return, but this joke is from her love, so she laughs instead. And if her cheeks are warm right now, it’s from the Italian sun.

He takes a photo of her exactly then, with her mouth open and her arms crossed and her sunglasses sliding down her nose. She doesn’t know it until later, but Jaime gets it printed and keeps it on his desk for a very long time.

*

They have not exactly a lot of sex, but more than they do at home. Brienne likes their increased intimacy. She will never tire of the feeling of Jaime’s skin against hers or the way he looks at her when he is inside her. 

The housekeeper walks in on them their last day in Tuscany. Brienne is mortified, not only because she was making obscene noises with half of Jaime’s hand inside her, but also because the housekeeper doesn’t even have the dignity to look away immediately. It’s a spectacle, apparently, that Jaime would have sex with such a brutish woman.

Jaime, of course, handles the whole situation with ease. He turns his head and says, “Sorry, we’ll be a few more minutes. If you’d like to wait in the kitchen, we can be out of your way soon enough.”

Brienne wants to stop and just go get dressed, but he kisses her. “Shh,” Jaime says. “She’s just jealous. She wishes she had someone half as handsome as me. Now,” he lowers his voice. “I was doing something.” He curls his fingers and she arches off the couch.

“Jaime,” she says breathily. “She’ll hear us.”

Jaime just hums and repeats his earlier motion.

“I’m currently having a wonderful time on vacation with my girlfriend, and if the housekeeper decides she wants to interrupt us, it’s her problem, not ours. Hush.”

She doesn’t have breath to answer.

They emerge ten minutes later, dressed and rosy-cheeked. Jaime says something in Italian to the housekeeper and then they go out to the Uffizi Gallery- because, Jaime says, Brienne will blend right in with all the art.

Brienne has no comment because her breath is catching in her throat and she is cataloguing this moment with all the other soft things Jaime has said to her.

*

They eat. A lot.

Jaime complains that he’s gained twenty pounds their first day in Venice. “None of my clothes fit anymore. I need fat clothes, Brienne. Our baby isn’t even here yet and I’ve already got my dad bod going.”

Brienne laughs. “At least you aren’t growing another human being. I just look like I’m fat, because I’m too tall for my body to make me look obviously pregnant.”

She’s started getting backaches, which is annoying, but it’s not the worst side effect ever, so she’s dealing. It’s worth it. Every day, she feels their baby kick inside her and she thinks that she never could have imagined what a gift a child is.

Jaime places his hand on her stomach now, a look of reverence on his face. “You’re glowing, you know that?”

Brienne blushes and shakes her head, unable to hide her smile. “Don’t make things up.”

“I’m not.” His face is all seriousness. “Your skin looks like it’s glowing. You look the happiest you’ve ever been. I like it.” He leans in, resting his head on her shoulder. “I like that I made you this way, that it’s our child making you glow.”

In the small amount of time they’ve spent in Italy, Brienne swears her libido has doubled. Jaime doesn’t mind one bit that they are actually having sex far more than normal. They’re in a hotel in Venice, so the housekeeper can’t do more than knock on the door while they’re going at it.

He does, however, draw the line when she wants to stay inside and have a second round of sex instead of going to see St. Mark’s Basilica.

“You will regret missing it, and I’m going regardless of what you choose to do,” Jaime says, his hands on his hips.

Maybe he is getting tired of her increased libido. “Blame the baby,” Brienne says, and wiggles her hands.

He rolls his eyes and pulls his pants on. “This was not planned as a sex vacation.”

She sighs and flops her hands on the bed. “Fine.”

Brienne really does enjoy St. Mark’s Basilica, despite her initial reluctance. She holds Jaime’s hand almost the entire time (he does need to scratch his cheek every once in awhile) and gasps appropriately at all the art.

Their last day in Rome, they go to see the Colosseum. Brienne can only do so much walking in the heat, but Jaime sits with her in the shade for awhile and they people watch together. After what might be an hour of observing other tourists and making stupid judgements to make each other laugh, they walk back to their hotel, the sun shining on the cobblestones.

She thinks that she wants to marry him just then, and kicks a pebble in surprise. “Marry me,” she says impulsively.

Jaime stops walking, but leaves his stump on the small of her back. “We can’t exactly do that now, Brienne.”

“I know that. When we get home, let’s go to the judge and get married.”

His eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, unreadable and unreachable in that moment. “Of course I will,” he says. And then Jaime kisses her with a hundred people turning to watch, and Brienne is definitely crimson, and someone cheers, and it is absolutely without a doubt one of the best days of her life.

That had been something she had said on their first anniversary, that she was going to be the one to ask him, if anyone was doing the asking, and Jaime had just looked at her like she hung the moon and kissed her forehead and said that that was perfectly alright with him.

He goes out and gets her a ridiculous ring while she’s napping before their flight. She says it’s ridiculous because she didn’t need one in the first place, and it’s not like she has an Instagram to brag on (but Jaime does, and she knows he wants to brag about her, so she only says it’s ridiculous, and doesn’t make him return it). It’s a sapphire to match her eyes, and Brienne nearly cries when Jaime says that because that was the first thing he ever said to her, that her eyes were just like sapphires.

“Thank you,” she says, and means it.

They get married sixteen days after they get back, which is the first appointment they can get with the judge. Brienne’s baby shower is not completely terrible, because Jaime and Sansa sit on either side of her the entire time and it’s really just people from her practice. Jaime cooks for everyone, and fields a lot of compliments.

She watches him across the room when everyone is drinking punch and starting to leave. He’s engaged in conversation with Mariah, the receptionist, and he looks so beautiful Brienne wants to run her hand through his hair and kiss him.

Sansa smirks at Brienne when she turns around. “I’m not sure how people can stand to be in the same room as you two when you look at each other like that. Are you sure you aren’t going to fuck each other’s brains out the moment we all leave?”

Brienne laughs. “If we do, that’s none of your business.” She sobers slightly. “We wanted to ask you something, though. Jaime and I are getting married in a couple of days, and we want you to be our witness.”

Sansa almost claps her hands in giddiness like she’s a teenager, but she restrains herself and smiles broadly instead. Her face when she had seen Brienne’s ring in the office six days ago nearly made Brienne turn and run. “I would be delighted to. When?”

“Just on our lunch break Friday. Jaime and I don’t want anything big.”

Sansa has a gleam in her eyes, and Brienne thinks that maybe this was a mistake. “What are you going to wear?”

“Jaime bought me a dress for our trip that I really like, and it still fits with this belly, so I’m leaning towards that.” Brienne begs Jaime to come to her with her eyes, but he’s looking at pictures of Mariah’s kids right now and does not notice.

“Let me see.” Sansa is already walking towards the bedroom, and Brienne feels slightly helpless to stop her.

“There are still other people here, Sansa,” she hisses, in a last bid attempt to deter her friend.

It doesn’t work.

“Jaime can entertain them.” Sansa smiles and turns down the hall.

Sometimes Brienne wonders why the fuck she has a practice with this woman when she’s so damn stubborn.

Sansa oohs and ahs appropriately when Brienne tries the dress on for her, but that gleam hasn’t left her eyes. “You need flowers. What kind do you want?”

“It’s fine. We don’t want a big to-do.” Brienne puts her hands up placatingly and briefly considers tackling her fellow doctor in a bid for freedom.  

“Flowers aren’t a big to-do. They’re flowers. How about lilies? They’re easy and cheap.”

“Fine. If it’ll make you happy, get some lilies.”

“Don’t get lilies,” Jaime says, poking his head around the door. “I’m allergic to them. If you’re going to do flowers do roses or chrysanthemums or something.”

Sansa looks at Jaime and back at Brienne. The smile on her face is positively criminal. “Pink roses,” she says, and actually claps her hands this time. “Thank you, Jaime.”

Jaime shrugs and raises his eyebrows at Brienne. “Could you not leave me to drown in guests next time, please? Mariah preceded to show me eighteen pictures of each of her three children and then started to tell me their birth stories before I begged to use the bathroom.”

“Sorry,” Brienne apologizes. “She’ll tell her birth stories to the cashier. She has. Sansa’s watched her do it before.”

Sansa nods. “I apologized, but Mariah is just like that. She’s a wonderful receptionist and makes my patients seem at ease, but I have had one or two complaints from Brienne’s.”

“I can see why.” Jaime steps inside the bedroom finally, shutting the door behind him. “She’s still out there, and I can’t do this anymore. One of you go tell her to go home or something. I’d like my house back.”

“Fine,” Sansa sighs. “I’ll go. Because I love you, Brienne.”

*

Their wedding day actually is completely fine. Sansa shoves the roses in the mini fridge Friday morning and smiles at Brienne every time they see each other. At 1:30, Brienne takes her coat off. Sansa is already in the bathroom changing.

Jaime picks them up and Brienne kisses him in the parking lot while Sansa pretends to be looking somewhere else. “Let’s go get married,” she says, and leans into him- as much as she can with her stomach in the way. 

He hums his agreement and pushes her ever so slightly towards his car. “Move, then. We’ve got an appointment.”

Sansa is wearing heels, because of course she is, and therefore Brienne has to listen to her click the entire long walk from the parking lot to the courthouse, and then for another five minutes inside.

It’s simple and lovely, and Brienne cannot help the grin that splits her cheeks when she takes Jaime’s face and kisses him for the first time as his wife.

Sansa whoops, and the judge looks slightly amused. Brienne can’t care, not when Jaime’s hand is so firm in hers, and their child is turning somersaults that leave her breathless.

“The baby is happy,” she says, and pulls Jaime’s hand to her stomach. “Bean knows that we’re celebrating today.”

Jaime’s eyes widen and he kisses her again. “I swear, that child is going to come out and you’ll want to put Bean on the birth certificate,” he whispers into her mouth, and then kisses her _again,_ with tongue, and she lets him, because they’re _married._

“We should go get burritos,” Brienne says, once she’s breathless and slightly embarrassed. “I do have to go back to work and I am on my lunch break.”

“I know,” Jaime says, and brings his hand up to touch her cheek.

Sansa clears her throat. “Are you two going to stand there all day?” 

“Maybe,” Jaime says, and Brienne feels inclined to agree with him.

But her stomach growls, and she has two mouths to feed now, so they do get burritos. Sansa looks at them practically sitting on top of each other in their booth and smiles. “Thank you for letting me be your witness.”

Their wedding pictures get framed and hang in the hallway. Brienne likes to touch them every time she passes, her hand drifting to her stomach and a smile playing across her face.

Tyrion is mildly angry that he wasn’t invited, but he seems appeased by the photos. “I’m flying out when the baby is born,” he says, and Brienne knows not to argue with him. Jaime tries for a few minutes, but he misses his brother and is not actually opposed to having him around for a couple of days.

Brienne is thinking about the way Jaime looks at her right now. She just stands there wondering how many times she will be unable to say anything except that she loves him in response to the way his eyes seem to say so many things neither of them can ever voice. Sansa taps her in the hallway once, and she nearly jumps a mile.

“Lost in space?” Sansa smiles, tugging on Brienne’s stethoscope.

Brienne blushes and says something about the baby kicking, because that’s easier to explain than the way her husband looks at her. Sansa asks if she can feel, but Brienne says she’s got a patient waiting and scurries to room number four.

Jaime’s child rolls inside her while she’s listening to Elia Martell’s lungs and she needs to pause for a moment to adjust to the feeling.

“Breathe deep for me,” Brienne says and listens to the sound of the seventeen year old draw breath in her lungs. She thinks about the way Jaime breathes next to her when he has drifted off to sleep and she is about to. She stands for a moment too long before asking Elia to take another deep breath. The girl feels fragile beneath Brienne’s large hands and she wonders if their baby will feel this fragile when she finally gets to hold it.

She’s a lovesick idiot, is what she really is. She has patients to concentrate on, and she and Jaime have been together for five years now. That’s plenty long enough for her to not be mooning over him in hallways or thinking about the way he breathes while she does her job.

But getting married has actually sparked something inside her, some renewal of all her fluttering nonsense at the beginning. She isn’t confused about his feelings, or afraid of hers this time, but instead is grateful for them.

The third time Sansa catches her staring into space, she asks if Brienne is alright. “Do you need to go home for the day?”

“No, I’m fine.” Brienne taps her pen against her clipboard and looks at Sansa. “I swear I’m in my honeymoon stage and I’m seven months pregnant and five years into this relationship. I don’t know how to talk about it, but I guess-” She pauses. Sansa is one of the few people who gets to know these things about her, no matter the seven year age gap between them. They just click, like Brienne never really has with other women. Maybe it’s because Sansa doesn’t expect her to be like other women. “I think that I’m the luckiest woman in the world,” Brienne finishes. “Jaime is so good to me, and I never could have guessed that I would be this happy for this long.”

Sansa smiles. “You deserve it.”

Brienne knows she does now, but she never would have dreamed of this at sixteen, a chip on her shoulder and too much to prove- too much already lost.

Jaime texted her that he’s still working on an audiobook, so she's quiet coming home from work that night. He doesn’t usually work late more than once a month, preferring to keep his work hours as aligned with Brienne’s as possible, but there was a problem with his microphone this morning (she got texts about that as well- if she could call the wall of swear words yelling), and therefore he’s got another two chapters to finish before he can eat dinner.

She starts pasta water, humming to herself. Jaime’s office is as soundproofed as they can get it, so it’s not like her humming is a problem. Banging the front door and yelling wouldn’t be ideal, though.

 _Balance,_ she thinks, and sits to wait. Her feet have started to bother her and she’s having to pee inordinate amounts. But she is insisting on working until the last possible minute. Brienne would rot if she couldn’t work. 

When she had met Jaime, the loss of his hand was a fresh wound, and he had only approached her because Tyrion had egged him on. He was far too handsome to be sitting next to her for any reason besides there were no other empty seats at the bar, so she had turned back to her drink.

She had nearly jumped out of her skin, looking at Jaime with suspicion and surprise when he had said, “Your eyes are like sapphires.”

Brienne had blushed and been unable to reply (that hasn’t changed), but Jaime had forged onwards. (That has. They don’t need words the same way anymore.)

“My brother told me to come over here and stop mooning over you.” he said, and refused to break eye contact.

Brienne had recently dealt with the scorn of three men simultaneously, and had no room for such bullshit. “It seems unlikely anyone would moon after me. How much did he bet?”

“Nothing. He did, however, threaten to tell you embarrassing stories about my childhood and refuse to drive me to physical therapy tomorrow.” He had smiled, and it made her insides melt despite her reservations. “I haven’t adapted to one-handed driving yet, and I did some really stupid stuff as a kid. I’m Jaime. Jaime Lannister, if that’s important to you.”

Brienne took a long drink, her eyes flitting across the bar. A dwarf raised his glass at her, smiling, and she thought that he was probably Jaime Lannister’s brother. She knew the name Lannister. She assumed that it was his father’s name on all the radiology equipment, and she’d heard of Jaime himself before; saw a picture of him once or twice too.

“It’s not,” she said, running her tongue along her teeth. “Important to me. I don’t give a shit who you are or who your daddy is.”

Jaime had laughed, and she had hated how much she ached to hear that sound again the moment he had finished. “Well, that’s something. I’m glad to hear you don’t give a shit about me. There’s already a nice Jaime Lannister Hate Club that you can join. It includes quite a large swathe of my family. My _daddy_ included.”

Brienne had looked up at him and seen the pain behind his laughter. She remembers wondering why exactly he was there, next to her, trying to hit on her and instead being slightly pathetic.

“Do you even know how to flirt?” She had been tired and slightly drunk, and therefore more forward than normal. “You haven’t even asked my name, only complimented my eyes and complained about how much your rich family hates you.”

“I figured I should get that bullshit out of the way, though. What is your name, sapphire eyes?” He had asked her with so much sincerity that Brienne had nearly stood up in disbelief.

“Brienne,” she had said slowly, warily. “Dr. Brienne Tarth, M.D.”

“Ah,” Jaime smiled. “A doctor. What kind?”

“GP.” This man was a cardiothoracic surgeon before the loss of his hand (which she has barely deigned to acknowledge because it is currently very unimportant), which meant he should know what she was talking about without having to spell it out.

“Like dealing with measles then, Brienne? I just rhymed there. Does that count as a point towards better flirting?” He had looked so cheeky and eager to please that Brienne had nearly slapped him. She refrained, though. She had boxing later that night, and would have plenty of chances to hit someone.

“I like helping people.” She decided honesty was best in the middle of this very odd situation. “And no. You’re currently very low on flirting points.”

"Tell me, Dr. Brienne. How may I gain enough points to get your number and perhaps dinner?”

Brienne had clenched her teeth, trying to think. “You could start by telling me why you’re here.”

Jaime had raised his eyebrows. “Because I want to be here. With you. I’m already having a good time, and I’ve had almost ten shitty weeks in a row, so. This is very welcome. _You_ are welcome.”

“Shitty because you’ve had to jack off with your left hand and are looking for an easy lay? Think the brute of a woman will sleep with you because there’s no one else willing?” She was caustic, but she had no time for his believed nonsense. She just wanted to finish her drink in peace before she had to go home and deal with her annoying new roommate, who happened to be her ex’s sister. Brienne was having a shitty couple of weeks herself.

“Gods, no.” Jaime was quick to defend himself. “I like your look, Brienne, and I like you. I want to take you out on a date, if you’ll give a cripple a chance. And besides, while I can barely use my left hand, I _do_ still remember how to kiss a woman. So no, I’m not here to mock you or sleep with you, although I imagine that would be a privilege if I did get to. Sleep with you,” he adds hurriedly. “Not mock you. You seem like you get enough of that.”

“Damn right,” Brienne said, and tossed the rest of her drink back. “I’ll give you my phone number and a chance. One date, no promises.”

Jaime had told her later that he had wanted to die in those first weeks without his hand. He had sat on his couch and stared at his walls and wanted to sink into the cushions until he didn’t exist anymore. His livelihood and worth was completely gone with his right hand, the hand that had saved hundreds of lives. He was considering jumping off a cliff the night Tyrion had shoved him at her.

“Not that you saved my life,” he had said, his hand intertwined with hers. “But you made me want to save my own. And you kept glancing over at me, so I was fairly certain you wouldn’t run away.”

And here they are, now, with their child weeks away from joining this world in their house with each other. Jaime will be another hour before he’s done at least, but Brienne wants to make tomato sauce from scratch tonight, so that’s fine. She’ll wait.

She had recommended that he do audiobooks a couple months into their relationship. “You have a nice voice,” she had said, feeling tingly in odd places when she thought about just how much she loved his voice. “And you can do anything you want really. You don’t have to see people, and you don’t need a right hand for it.”

Jaime had told her he would think about it, but he was restless without the only job he’d ever cared for, and it wasn’t like he had loads of options as a man without his dominant hand.

Sometimes, Brienne is very quiet, and sits in his office with him, letting his voice roll over her. She won’t do that tonight, not when there’s food on the stove to be watching, but she wants to run her hands through her husband’s- that’s still new, that he’s her _husband,_ but it feels so right and _home_ that she can’t stop thinking it- hair and just listen to him read.

Tonight isn’t like that, but they’ll have more time in a couple of weeks, when her maternity leave starts. She’s half-dreading it, half-begging for it. Her feet don’t just ache, they’re swollen now, and she already has a difficult time finding shoes, so she’s stuck wearing ugly mary janes and she’d like to be done with them.

*

Their son is born the first week of December, and he is so huge that his shoulders get stuck and Brienne is wheeled into surgery so he can be cut out.

“This is your damn fault,” she says to Jaime, who is clenching her hand tightly. “You knocked me up with a huge baby, and now I can’t give birth to it properly. You Lannisters are such showoffs.”

He leans down to kiss her forehead and says that he is sorry, despite the fact that it is as much her genetics as his that made their child so large.

Brienne cries when the doctor says that it’s a boy, and Jaime is definitely crying too, but they’re both smiling so widely that no one could mistake their tears for anything except happiness. She thinks her heart is going to burst the first time she gets to hold her son.

“Jaime,” she whispers, her voice gone. She can barely speak because her love is choking in her throat and running through her fingertips, and her tongue is too busy trying to figure out how to name the feeling that is overwhelming her like nothing she has ever known- and she thinks, finally, after her son is asleep later, that the only name she can put to it is motherhood.

“Yes, love?” he asks in return, his voice gentle as she helps scoop their son into his arms, slightly awkwardly because of his stump.

“Let’s call him Sam.”

“Samuel?” Jaime looks at her, the light from the window turning his eyes the most brilliant shade of green. “Or just Sam?”

“We don’t need to make things more complicated than they need to be, do we?”

“No,” Jaime smiles. “We don’t. Should we give him a middle name?”

Brienne nods. “You pick.”

Both of them had felt that they couldn’t name their child until they held it, and now that he’s here, she knows they were right.

Jaime looks at Sam for a long minute, before pursing his lips. “Sam Elliot Lannister.”

She nods again. “Perfect.”

Tyrion, her dad, and Sansa are all waiting to be let in, but Brienne wants to feed Sam first. He latches on after only a minute of fumbling, and she lets her head hit the pillow behind her.

When she opens her eyes, Jaime is watching her, faint amusement on his face.

“What?” She asks. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because,” Jaime says, dragging a chair over and sitting. “You look blissed out.”

Brienne’s breasts have been leaking for a month and a half now. It does feel heavenly for all that pressure to be released. She blushes a little and shifts Sam slightly against her chest. Her father’s face has appeared in the window, and there’s a nurse outside saying something to him.

“Jaime,” she says, a note of hurriedness in her voice. “Get me a blanket please. My father has decided that he can’t wait, and I would prefer not to flash him.”

Jaime helps her cover herself only a few seconds before Selwyn Tarth barges in.

“Where’s my grandson? All the nurse would tell me is that it’s a boy.” Brienne’s father has never been a quiet man, and she winces, despite knowing that Sam is awake.

“Dad,” she says soothingly. “I’m feeding Sam right now, which is why we didn’t ask you in right away. If you’d like to wait twenty minutes, you can hold him.”

“Oh.” She hasn’t often seen her father embarrassed, but there’s a time for everything. “I’m sorry, Brienne. So his name’s Sam then?”

“Yes.” She smiles.

Jaime stands up and shakes Selwyn’s hand. “We’re glad you could come,” he says, and then moves to walk out with Selwyn.

“Oh, Jaime.” Brienne doesn’t want him to leave, even if her father wants company. “Don’t leave me. Please.”

Selwyn smiles and says gruffly, “Go on then. Your wife wants you.” He leaves, the door clicking shut softly behind him.

Brienne sees a flash of Sansa’s hair in the hall, but they appear to be left alone for a bit. Jaime comes and sits with her while she nurses Sam, and it is happy and calm after the ordeal of bringing this child into the world. When everyone does come in, they’re very quiet. Sam’s fallen asleep by then, so he is carefully passed around while the adults whisper.

“He has the best hair,” Sansa says quietly.

“The cutest nose,” Tyrion says, his own crooked and misshapen.

“He looks just you, Brienne,” Selwyn beams.

From someone else years ago, she would have taken that as an insult, but it’s from her father, and it’s a compliment, she knows that. “Thank you,” she says. “He does.”

*

Jaime wears turtlenecks now that he’s a dad. Brienne doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t offer any explanation for himself, just starts wearing them for the first time in his life while wearing the Babybjörn. She laughs the first time she sees him, unaccustomed to this look. He shrugs and hushes her because Sam is sleeping.

He looks sexy. His attractiveness is not diminished by them in any way. It’s just- weird. Brienne says as much after two months of turtlenecks. Jaime shrugs and kisses her.

“My neck is warm. I don’t know. I just wanted to wear them.”

“Alright, Mr. Lannister. You go right ahead. I am not stopping you.”

“Mrs. Lannister,” Jaime replies (which is a joke because she did not take his name, but she doesn’t mind him saying it). “You should try turtlenecks. They’re a good look. And cozy too. Sam approves.”

“Sam is a baby,” Brienne says firmly. She takes his face in her hands. “Don’t make shit up. Just wear the damn turtlenecks and don’t get weird about it.”

He’s still wearing the things three years later when they take Sam to preschool. Brienne blocked herself out of the first hour of the day so she could go with them, but she feels so odd holding her son’s hand and walking him to a building where he’ll be alone without either her or Jaime for company. Sam’s teacher is a lovely woman. Brienne and Jaime met her a week ago, and Sam is not even crying about leaving his parents.

“Give Mommy a kiss,” she says, and squats down. She’s wearing red lipstick today, a rare occasion for her, but she felt like it and Jaime had nodded and said that she should, so she’s about to smear Sam with it, but he doesn’t mind.

“You look pretty, Mommy,” he had said this morning, and she had hardly been able to keep from bursting into tears. That happens now that she’s a mother- random tears for no good reason. Jaime never makes fun of her, but sometimes she catches his mouth twitching before he kisses her and asks her if there’s anything he can do.

“Bye, Mommy,” Sam yells, giving her a hug. “Bye, Daddy! I’ll see you when I’m done wif school!” He gives Jaime a quick hug and runs into his classroom without a single look backwards.

There are other parents dropping their children off who are prying them off their legs. Brienne looks at her love.

“Isn’t he supposed to be crying about leaving us?”

Jaime shrugs. “I guess he’s well-adjusted. Take it as a compliment to our parenting skills.”

He is actually just as torn up about Sam growing up as she is, she knows, but he’s pretending to be cool about it right now because people are watching. She’s trying to hold it together and he’s trying to hold it together, and she is ninety-eight percent sure that they are both going to have a five minute cry in the car.

They go inside Sam’s classroom and make sure his backpack and sippy cup are in the appropriate place. Both of them have to duck under a garland of fake flowers in order to say hello to Mrs. Frey. Sam is fine and completely ignores them, already intent on a new toy.

“You’re lucky,” Mrs. Frey says confidentially. “He’s the first one who hasn’t screamed this morning.”

 _That would almost be more comforting,_ Brienne thinks, and smiles anyways. “Have a good day, Sam,” she says.

Sam doesn’t look up. Jaime’s hand is firm on the small of her back, and he increases the pressure ever so slightly. “Come on, love,” he says. “He’ll be alright.”

They have a three minute cry together in the car, hardly looking at each other except to pass the tissues.

“I need another baby,” Brienne says after she’s wiped her eyes.

Jaime cocks his head and arches an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Gods, yes,” she says. “A child that’s small and perfect and just sleeps all day and needs you? I’d like that.” She means it, too.

He smiles. “Is this so you can get another pregnant in Italy trip in?”

“Jaime,” she says, and swats his arm as he’s buckling his seatbelt. “It is not. I want another baby. For real.”

“Okay,” he says, looking at her even though he just put the car in drive. “Let’s have another baby.”

Actually trying for a child is a lot harder than doing it accidentally, they soon find out. Plus they have a child’s schedule to work around, so it’s not like they can fuck on Brienne’s lunch breaks, not when preschool lets out at 12:45. So they have hurried sex when they would rather be falling asleep and when they wake up in the morning before Sam crawls into their bed.

Jaime bids for artificial insemination on their third month of trying. Sam took an hour to fall asleep tonight, and was a pain in the ass all day. Sansa said she would take him tomorrow, but Brienne is ovulating right now, so having sex every day is necessary.

“Hush,” she says, and pulls him in a little deeper. “I’m not a cow.”

“I know that,” Jaime grunts. “I swear I feel like a rabbit right now, though. Tomorrow we should just sit in silence and watch something besides Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood. No sex.”

“Okay,” Brienne whispers, her hands sliding down his back. “Roll over,” she says, feeling soft and exposed all of the sudden, as if her guts will spill out without his stomach against hers to keep them in.

He likes her on top- prefers it actually- but in the sake of quickness they haven’t had sex like that in weeks. She’s tired, but she feels the urge to show him that she still wants him even if they feel like sex is an obligation right now.

“I love you,” Brienne says as she maneuvers him under her. “Just- let me.”

Jaime’s hand and stump are on her hips, his eyes searching her face. “If you insist, love.”

She grabs his wrists and rolls her hips. “I do,” she says, unable to bite back her moan at the angle. “I always insist, Jaime.”

Brienne feels that perhaps for the first time she has managed to say his name like he says hers, and smiles to herself about her accomplishment. Whatever Jaime could muster in response is lost to the groan she pulls from his lips the next moment.

They fall asleep immediately afterwards, and Brienne thinks as she’s drifting off with Jaime’s sweat drying on her hips that she loves him more than she can ever place in words, and maybe she should be more okay with her inability to say everything she feels.

Jaime is the one to roll out of bed the next morning to make sure Sansa knows what Sam is and isn’t allowed to do, but Brienne doesn’t miss Sansa’s cheerful “Have fun you two!” tossed out right before the front door closes.

Jaime crawls back into bed behind her, tugging her close to him. They sleep for another forty-five minutes or so- Brienne doesn’t know or care, and wake leisurely.

“Let’s go to IHOP,” she mumbles into her pillow. “I don’t want to cook.”

“Good plan,” he grunts. “But I don’t want to move just yet.”

They lie there in silence listening to each other breathe before Brienne says abruptly, “Are you just going to lie there rock hard and act like I’m still a virgin?”

She rolls over and looks at him sternly. “We said we didn’t have to have sex today. If you _want_ to, I’m not complaining.”

Jaime looks slightly embarrassed at her chastisement, but grins. “So that’s a yes on lazy morning sex, then?”

“You idiot,” she says, and kisses him ardently.

Brienne never would have dreamed of calling Jaime an idiot in their marriage bed when they had first met, but here she is, doing just that, and here he is, kissing her back.

They finally get to breakfast, quite a bit after they both normally rise. Brienne feels exhilarated today, as if the tiredness of the last few months has melted away, and trying for a baby isn’t everything they have to think about right now.

They sit next to each other in their booth, partly because their legs are too long to sit across from each other, and partly because they’re like that now. They’re _that_ couple, the one Brienne always hated because she could never see herself having such a relationship, but she could absolutely not be any happier now that she has one of them.

Their waiter gives them an odd smile when he says he’ll be back with their drinks in just a moment and Jaime rolls his eyes at her.

“He was watching me with you,” he says, and reaches across his lap to squeeze her thigh. “I think he’s just jealous.”

“He’s not,” Brienne says. She knows their waiter is wondering why a woman like her is with a man like him, and while it doesn’t bother her as much as it used to, she’s still annoyed by it. “I bet you twenty dollars he’s back there wondering why a woman so out of your league is practically sitting on top of you.”

Jaime runs his hand around the neck of his turtleneck. “That’s his damn problem. I don’t need to wonder.”

He kisses her right as their waiter is approaching with their drinks, making it very clear that he initiated the kiss and continuing it for long past the appropriate point. Jaime takes his orange juice finally, his lips wet with Brienne’s saliva and his wedding band flashing in the light.

If their waiter has anything to say, he keeps his mouth shut.

“I’m yours,” Jaime says while they’re waiting for their pancakes. “I wish everyone knew that it was you who decided to keep me, not the other way around. It’s stupid, really. And just because I’m beautiful doesn’t mean I’m the better person.”

Brienne touches his hair. “I know what you mean, Jaime, but people are stupid. It doesn’t matter.”

His phone buzzes then, and he looks down to see who it is. It’s Tyrion, and his text just says, “Joffrey’s dead.”

An out of area phone number calls his phone just then. Jaime sits there, not moving, while it rings and rings. Brienne finally picks it up, knowing that it’s Cersei.

“Yes?” She doesn’t bother with formalities. She and Cersei met exactly once, and the woman had hissed at her for having Jaime’s stump on her back, even though Jaime had assured Brienne that Cersei didn’t want a cripple and just hated to see people taken away from her.

“Where’s Jaime?”

Brienne looks at her husband, her mouth a firm line. “He can’t come to the phone right now.”

“Put him on. It’s a Saturday.”

“He’s with our son right now. They went to the park.” Brienne doesn’t lie, not like this, but she is not allowing this woman to get her claws into Jaime, not now.

“This is his phone number. I know, it was clearly labelled as such in Tyrion’s phone.”

“He left his phone at home and I thought if someone was calling, it might be important and I should take a message.” Her voice is deadly calm as she lies. Jaime hasn’t really moved yet.

The waiter deposits their plates in front of them and leaves, thankfully quiet.

“Tell Jaime that _our_ son is dead and to call me whenever he gets back.” The line goes dead.

Brienne slowly lowers Jaime’s phone to the table. “You didn’t need to talk to her,” she says.

“I didn’t,” he replies firmly. He cuts into his pancakes and then pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. “Will you text Tyrion and ask him how it happened?”

She uses her own phone, but it’s only a minute before Tyrion replies. “The little bitch ran his brand new car into a semi on the freeway and caused a three lane pileup,” she reads, pausing in her quest to choose the correct syrup. “His exact words.”

“I’m not going to his funeral.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

They’re conversing in a tone they would use to discuss groceries, not for the death of Jaime’s son, who was the result of a 25-year long incestuous relationship with his sister.

“I don’t really feel anything,” Jaime says, and swirls his bite of pancake in syrup. “He was a terrible person. I think I’m glad that she never let me touch them or talk to them. I can’t feel anything for him.”

Brienne wraps her fingers around his stump, her thumb rubbing over the texture of the scar. “You don’t have to,” she says softly. “You aren’t obligated to feel anything.”

“Thank you,” he says hoarsely. “For being my wife and putting up with all my bullshit.”

“You put up with plenty of mine. Like the whole stupid crying all the time thing I do now. Pregnancy ruined my common sense.”

“Brienne.” There’s that tone of voice that says everything she can never say, and she knows if she lifts her eyes from her hand on his arm that he will be looking at her like _that._ “Brienne,” he repeats. “You have never been ruined, by anyone or anything, least of all our son.”

She looks at him finally, and she realizes that she doesn’t hate the way he looks at her anymore. She hopes she’s started looking back at him the same way. It’s okay that he loves her differently than she does; that her heart will never be the same as his in all its murmurations.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

It takes them a long time to finish their pancakes, but by the end of it, Jaime’s convinced her they should go to Italy earlier in her pregnancy this time, and not in summer, so they can enjoy themselves a little more. He waggles his eyebrows at her when he says that, and she nearly shoves him into the wall.

“Gods, Jaime. You are insufferable. Just last night you said you would rather have a robot impregnate me, and now you’re thinking about sex in Italy.”

“Well,” he says, licking his lips. “If you shove me into another wall, I’m pretty sure I could get you pregnant very quickly.”

Brienne wonders when exactly she decided that she didn’t have time for boxing anymore, and thinks that after this baby she’s going to take it up again.

“Hush your mouth, Mr. Lannister,” she says. “We’re in public.” And then she kisses him. Because she can.

“Brienne the Bold is on the loose in IHOP.” Jaime giggles and pulls her face into his neck. “I fear for my life.”

“You should fear for your cock,” she says, pulling away. The waiter decides to deposit their check at the edge of their table just then. She flushes absolutely crimson and looks away. She’s been married for nearly four years. This stuff shouldn’t embarrass her like it still does.

Jaime thinks her embarrassment is cute. She knows this because he tells her, nearly every time it happens.

“You’re cute,” he says now, as if she didn’t just threaten to do something to his dick in front of a stranger that she’s probably (definitely) going to end up running into in the grocery store.

“Can we pay the man and leave now?” Brienne hides her face in her hands temporarily. “This is too much.”

He tells her on the car ride home that he supposes he might have been more sad if Joffrey had died a couple of years ago. “I just don’t know,” he says. “I have a son I can actually be a father to now, not some strange boy I looked at on holidays.”

Cersei tries to call again, just once. Brienne blocks her number on her phone and Jaime’s. Tyrion apologizes for leaving his phone unlocked for the first time in his life around Cersei, but neither of them are mad at him.

Brienne is pregnant the next time she takes a test, and she swears she smiles broader than she did than the first time. “Jaime,” she practically squeals, “I’m pregnant!”

His grin is so wide that she thinks his face will split. Brienne thinks that she’s probably smiling just as ridiculously.

They take Sam to Italy with them, because neither of them actually want to leave him behind, and he is still taking occasional naps, so not all hope is lost for sex in the Italian countryside. (Except Brienne gets morning sickness this pregnancy, so all hope is lost for their sex life in general, actually.)

Jaime gets a fellow tourist to take a photo of them all together as a family at the Leaning Tower of Pisa, Sam propped in the crook of his arm and Brienne pulled tight against his side. He doesn’t get that one for his desk. It gets hung in the hallway next to their wedding pictures and Sam’s baby photos.

Their daughter is born in the spring, and they name her Lucy Joanna, for both their mothers. She is the exact opposite of Sam, and spends half her nights screaming and the other half just wide awake. Brienne thinks that she is definitely not having any more kids, and Jaime agrees with her.

“Besides, we’d be outnumbered if we had another,” he says very seriously as he changes Lucy’s diaper. “It’s important we maintain the upper hand.”

Brienne laughs and starts unbuttoning her blouse. “Jaime, please tell me the last time either of us slept through the night.”

Lucy is five months old now.

“I can’t,” he says. “We’ve been tricked.” He runs his finger down their daughter’s nose. “Overpowered by cuteness or something.”

“Or something,” Brienne agrees, and throws on a muscle tank. She’s got boxing tonight, and while she feels slightly guilty for ditching Jaime with the kids for another hour and a half, their sex life has definitely improved since she started working out again, so. Not that guilty.

“I need a haircut,” she says, peering briefly in the mirror. “Where’s a ponytail?”

Jaime’s kept his hair longer lately, and she loves it- for more than one reason. It also means there are ponytails lying on nearly every surface of the house- except, of course, when she would actually like one.

He finishes snapping Lucy’s onesie and offers his wrist to her. “Take this one,” he says. “Have fun. Don’t come home too beat up.”

Brienne kisses him before leaning down to kiss her baby. “It’s Friday night. I’ve got the weekend to heal and makeup to cover up if I’m still purple on Monday.”

Jaime knows she can take care of herself, but he also still worries. It’s not like another break in her nose would matter, though, and he always kisses her very tenderly when her mouth is sore from fists.

“Still,” he says. “Be careful. And kiss Sam goodnight before you go, please.”

“Of course.” Brienne kisses him again, softer and less rushed than the first time. “You’ll wait up for me?”

“Miss Lucy is probably planning on it already, but yes. I’ll wait for you.” He kisses the tip of her nose. “Now go. You’re going to be late.”

The men she boxes with aren’t people she has ever met before, which is refreshing. She hated everyone knowing who she was back in California. Things are so much simpler here in the Midwest, and she can rest in the comfort of a good life with her family. She is away from everyone who mocked her and treated her like shit. She’s respected here. She is married to the love of her life and has the children she never thought she would have. Life is good, and she’s never felt more happy than she is right now. (Except for maybe every single day since she agreed to be Jaime’s girlfriend. That happiness has never left.)

Brienne flexes her fists as she steps into the ring tonight. She’s going to drag Jaime out here one of these nights and show him how to work this out with only one hand. He’s never boxed before, but he’s not too old to learn, and she knows he’d like to. Maybe next week they can get a babysitter (Sansa has recently started dating for the first time in seven years, and she’s a little enamored with her new boyfriend, and therefore has less free time than she used to).

Tonight’s first fight is with Nick. He puts up a good fight, as always, but Brienne hasn’t been beaten since she got back in shape. Tonight is good. It’s exactly what she needed after tapping on abdomens all day. Not that she hates her work or wants to do anything different. Just that boxing makes life better.

She raises her hands as Henry steps into the ring.

“Ready to go?” he asks, a smile on his face. They all like her here, after their initial confusion was replaced with respect.

“Of course I am,” Brienne smiles.

She knows why it’s called bloodlust. Not that she’s ever actually turned to violence for the sake of it, but her blood hums with desire after boxing and she nearly always speeds home to get to Jaime. She could take care of her problem herself, but she wants her husband’s hand on her clit when she comes, not her own.

Lucy is mercifully asleep in their room when she gets home, Sam long since conked out. Brienne checks on their children quietly and then stalks to the living room, where Jaime is sitting on the couch watching Food Network.

She sits on his lap, a leg on either side of his hips. “Jaime,” she practically growls.

He likes her when she’s this handsy and demanding, so he doesn’t even protest that he was watching something, just hits record and tosses the remote across the couch. Brienne leans into his ear.

“I need your hand,” she says, aching to feel his fingers slip inside her. When he does, she moans so loud Jaime hisses at her about Lucy.

“Sorry. Boxing was good tonight,” she pants, his thumb drawing slow circles in her slick. She knows that there’s a bruise on her ribs where Nick landed a punch before she tackled him, and she can feel it every time she inhales, but the pain is good. The pleasure curling in her belly is even better. “I won all my fights.”

“I can tell,” Jaime says, claiming her lips and swallowing the next sound about to escape her mouth.

Later, she flops on the couch with him and watches his cooking show, her arm around him. “I like being married to you,” she says, her eyes on the guy currently running to the pantry for something he should have gotten at the beginning of the challenge.

“I like it more,” Jaime says.

Brienne knows he’s looking at her like she is the only woman in the world without even turning her head, and she thinks to herself that she’d like to think she makes Jaime feel the same way.

“It’s the stupidest and most cliche thing ever, but I really think you were made for me.” She looks at him now, thinking about _“You have sapphire eyes.”_

“It’s not stupid,” Jaime says, his hip leaning slightly further into her thigh. “Not at all. It’s one of the sweetest things you’ve ever said to me.”

 _Well,_ she thinks, _that’s all I need._

Lucy starts crying just then. Brienne halts Jaime’s rise with her hand, her fingers splaying across his chest. “Let me get her. You’ve had a long day.”

He smiles at her, his mouth genuine warmth and happiness. “Okay,” he says.

Fine, maybe she needs that too.

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re curious as to how a one-handed person drives, a lovely gentleman made [this video](http://www.livingonehanded.com/driving-one-handed/).
> 
> I'm over on [tumblr](https://sapphireoftarth.tumblr.com), if you're interested in finding me there. Thank you for reading!!


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